MERCUTIO.
Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this — sir-reverence — love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears. — Come, we burn daylight, ho.
ROMEO.
Nay, that's not so.
MERCUTIO.
I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.
ROMEO.
And we mean well, in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.
MERCUTIO.
Why, may one ask?
ROMEO.
I dreamt a dream to-night.
MERCUTIO.
And so did I.
ROMEO.
Well, what was yours?
MERCUTIO.
That dreamers often lie.
ROMEO.
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
